Soñar Contigo (To Dream of You)
by Mogitz
Summary: Imelda Rivera can banish music and the mention of her long lost love from her home all she wants… but she can't stop either from showing up in her dreams -OR- For those doomed, forgotten souls in La Tierra de Los Muertos, there is the bittersweet option of visiting their loved ones… even if only in their dreams. (Explores Hector and Imelda's courtship and beyond)
1. Chapter 1

_**Soñar Contigo**_

 _ **-To Dream of You-**_

* * *

 _Imelda Rivera can banish music and the mention of her long lost love from her home all she wants… but she can't stop either from showing up in her dreams._

 _-OR-_

 _For those doomed, forgotten souls in La Tierra de Los Muertos, there is the bittersweet option of visiting their loved ones… even if only in their dreams._

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** _Um. So. This is weird. I have never picked my fandoms, they have always picked me. And I had this idea I was dying to get out. I'm not sure if I'll finish this, I guess I'll just see how many people are even interested? But I came up with this idea that Héctor was able to visit Imelda in her dreams and I just had to write it. Enjoy!_

 _***Disclaimer***: I am not Mexican, my family is originally from British Honduras (now present day Belize). They migrated up to Louisiana, main language being Spanish and creole. They often participated in the huge dia de los muertos celebrations in New Orleans._

 _That said I have taken over six years of Spanish language courses and many courses on Mexican culture. That said, I am always learning. I have nothing but respect for such a beautiful culture, so if I get anything wrong PLEASE tell me so I can correct it. I typically put a lot of research into my works and it's important to me that I am culturally responsible and not aiding in any damaging misconceptions or stereotypes._

* * *

 _ **Chapter One**_

When Héctor first arrived in the Land of the Dead, his bones were clean and white - they didn't rattle or ache the way they do now.

He was well-remembered, then. Maybe even loved and missed.

 _Maybe_.

He found out on the first Dia de Los Muertos that he was wrong.

While everyone was crossing the marigold bridge and spending time with their loved ones, he was left behind, not allowed through the gates. The guard told him it was no mistake: No one put his photo out on their ofrenda.

No one _missed_ him.

No one _loved_ him.

No one cared that he was... _dead_.

And then as time went on, weeks turned into months that turned into years, he began to see his bones turn brittle, yellowing with age. Each new _chip_ and _crack_ and _splinter_ , another reminder that he was, in fact, being forgotten.

He only knew that's what was happening to him when he met Chicharron, who told him under no uncertain terms what would happen to him the longer time ticked on and he fell from the living's memories. Chicharron explained that it happened to everyone eventually but for forgotten souls like Héctor, Chicharron, and the others down in the shantytown, it happens much faster.

 _Too_ fast.

One day, he would disintegrate into dust, to be part of this world no more. No one knew what happened after that, but many called it ' _el muerto final…'_

 _The Final Death._

The very idea shook Héctor to his bones… and yet, did it even really matter if he disappeared? If there was no one in the Land of the Living that loved him or missed him… what was the point of his existence at all?

* * *

 _ **Héctor - Three Years after Arriving in The Land of the Dead**_

"Héctor? Is there a _Héctor Rivera_ here?"

The sound of his name being called across the Department of Family Reunions waiting room feels like he's hearing it spoken aloud for the first time - perhaps because everyone here had gotten into the habit of calling him ' _Chorizo'_ due to his ill-fated demise.

" _Si_ ," he calls out, standing. He removes his hat to unearth his unkempt, inky black hair. "That is me. I am Héctor Rivera."

The official glances down at his clipboard, then nods at Héctor to follow him back to his office.

The empty space between Héctor's ribs where his heart used to be has been throbbing with phantom pain since he'd gotten the letter delivered that said his presence was requested down at DFR to handle a ' _personal family matter_.'

So many questions have run through his mind. Most prominently: what, _or who_ , could be here waiting for him?

"What is this about?" Héctor asks, unable to hold back his eagerness. He'd been here for three years now, and never once had he been called down to the Department of Family Reunions. He hates how hopeful it makes him feel in this moment - it gives him something to lose.

"Is it mi familia? Is it my… _my wife?_ " The bittersweet ache in his chest flutters once more at the very thought of it. While he yearns to see his beloved again - _almost more than anything_ \- no. It would be far too soon. She needs to be in the Land of the Living for their Coco.

The two skeletons reach the clerk's desk and he gestures for Héctor to sit across from him.

"Uno momento," he says, holding up one bony finger and then thumbing through a few loose papers on his untidy desk. He plucks up a form, his eyes drinking in the words on the page before he exclaims, " _aha!_ Here it is."

"What is that?" Héctor wonders, still clutching his hat to his chest.

"You've been requested in the Land of the Living."

"Wh-what do you mean?" He stammers, far too dumbfounded to even attempt to connect the dots. He sits forward excitedly, "Di-did someone put my photo on the ofrenda? Ernesto? _Imelda?_ "

"No, I'm afraid not…" the clerk replies and Héctor can only shake his head, puzzled.

"Then… _what?_ "

The clerk slides the form across the messy desk and Héctor drops his hat on his lap to pick the paper up with both hands. He squints at the letters, trying to make out the title: _Unconscious Visitation Request_.

"I don't… understand."

"It would seem someone has wished for you to visit them in their dreams."

Héctor's eyebrows raise in surprise (if he actually _had_ eyebrows), "Is that even _possible?_ "

The clerk sits back in his chair, " _si_."

"But… I thought I could not visit my loved ones without a photo on the ofrenda."

"Si, yes. But while you cannot visit the physical Land of the Living on Dia de los Muertos without an ofrenda, you _can_ visit a loved one's subconscious if they wish for it and the wish is granted."

Héctor's gaze pulls to the big, red _APPROVED_ stamp across the top of the page. He wants to ask who requested such a thing, but then he sees her name in bolded font next to his: _**Imelda Rivera.**_

" _Im… Imelda..._ requested to see... _me...?_ "

Héctor tries to wrap his head around this whole concept. After over three lonely, agonizing years of her not putting his photo out on the family ofrenda, the _last_ person he expected requesting to see him was his wife. Especially when he recounted the last time he saw her. He knew when he left, Imelda wasn't just heartbroken - she was _angry._

"Things have changed, mi amado," she said when she begged him not to leave. He could still remember it all so clearly. She was wearing her favorite purple dress. Her thick, dark hair spilled down over her tan, exposed shoulders.

He remembers she was barefoot.

"There was a time for wandering," she told him in their bedroom as he packed that night by candlelight. He could see her stunning but severe features flickering in the candle's flame. Her cheeks were flushed with ire and her dark eyes were burning. "But that was before. Now, we have _Socorro_. We have _responsibilities,_ Héctor-"

" _Imelda_ ," he interjected, gently. He reached out for her, tried to comfort her in his arms as he had so many times before. And for the briefest of moments, she _let_ him. He can still remember the way her soft, warm skin felt under his palms. "I _have_ to go. I _promised_ Ernesto-"

" _¡Ay, si!"_ Imelda threw her hands up frustratedly, pushing herself from him. She spun around, spitting over her shoulder at him, "It's all I _ever_ hear. Ernesto _this,_ and Ernesto _that_. What about your _familia?_ What about _us?_ "

"You and Coco are my whole _world_ , Imelda. You _know_ that," Héctor said, chuckling softly at her fury. Once again his hands came up to rest on her shoulders and he felt the weight of her leaning back against him, as though her knees may give out at any moment. She clutched onto him, her fingers knotting up the fabric of his embellished jacket. Héctor could only sigh, his hand inching up to tilt her chin so she would look at him, "Mi amor… I won't be gone forever," he reassured her.

Tears filled her eyes as she pled with him once more, " _Héctor_ , no. You don't understand. I have a _terrible_ feeling about this. Please… Stay here with us. Where you _belong-_ "

" _¿Papá?_ " chimed a small voice from the hallway, wafting between the two of them. Both Imelda and Héctor turned their attention to their little one, poking her head through the bedroom door. Their heated discussion must have awoken her. Hector looked to Imelda - she was choking back her own words, but her eyes spoke volumes. They gazed up at him as if to say, ' _how are you going to tell her you're leaving her?'_

Héctor swallowed down the knot that was forming in his throat. He moved from Imelda's grip but wasted no time crossing the room to scoop his precious daughter up in his arms.

" _Mi vida_ , what are you doing awake?" he asked her in a tone he reserved only for her - a soft lull. Coco rubbed the sleep from her eyes, but instead of nestling into him as she normally would, her stare widened at the sight of his suitcase. It was half-packed with his belongings, sprawled across the bed.

"Are you leaving, papá?" she whimpered, and his mouth dropped open to answer her. Once again, his stare fell to Imelda - searching for answers. Searching for _words_. But she offered him none. He took in the sight of her: her jaw was taught and her arms were crossed over her chest.

"You are going to break our daughter's heart _and_ mine," she warned him, low and quiet, unable to keep the emotion from her shaking voice.

"Imelda… I know you can't see it but… I'm doing this for you both."

Imelda scoffed before she could stop herself, pointing an accusing finger in his direction, " _no,_ Héctor! You are doing this for yourself - and at what _cost?_ "

"We have no money, Imelda," he whispered, his hand cupping over Coco's ears so she could not hear the sudden harshness in his tone. "I can't even buy Socorro a pair of _shoes_. Let me go with Ernesto - there is _money_ to be made. I can send it home, provide a good life for you both-"

"Why can't you find honest work here?" she shot back at him. "Why must you go chasing someone else's dreams, Héctor?"

Héctor didn't want to fight with her any longer - his decision had already been made. He knew Imelda was scared and often felt this way when he would leave to play music, but this was the first time he'd tried since they'd had Coco. Watching himself fail to provide for his daughter and his wife filled Héctor with an unexplainable shame. Ernesto promised they'd be successful, and he knew the would be, too. He was sure of it.

Sure enough to take the leap of faith and set off that night.

Héctor neared Imelda, wrapping the three of them up in a tight embrace.

"I promise you… I will be back, Imelda. I _swear_ it," he told her, his voice soft and his breath hitting her skin. At first, he felt Imelda relax beneath his touch as she melted into him. Her cheek fell against his, but her eyes clenched shut as she tried to swallow back a sob.

"If you leave, Héctor..." she said, her heart in her throat, "then I cannot promise you that you'll have a familia to return to."

* * *

 _ **To be continued?**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter Two**_

* * *

 _ **a/n**_ _hola chicos! Okay, so, this chapter has some backstory. I think a lot of this fic will have flashbacks revolving around Héctor and Imelda's life before his death and this one tackles their first meeting - it's pretty cute if you ask me. I'm sort of in love with writing this._

* * *

 _ **Imelda - Santa Cecilia - 1924**_

" _If you leave, Héctor… then I cannot promise you that you'll have a familia to return to."_

If there is anything Imelda Rivera has learned during her life, it's that time is cruel.

It does not wait, it does not rewind. It just keeps moving forward, whether you are ready or not.

It's been three whole years since Hector left, and Imelda is _still_ haunted by her last words to her husband.

There were so many _better_ things she could have said... so many things she _wished_ she'd said. If she could go back do it all over again, she would tell him she never meant it. She was just hurt. She just wanted him to _stay-_

 _No, not just that._

She just wanted him to _want_ to stay.

But it seems that the urge to wander was just too strong in him - even if up to that point he'd only shown himself to be an amazing father and husband. Never in a million years would Imelda have guessed that night would be the last night she saw the love of her life.

After he walked out the door, equipped with his songbook and the guitar she had gifted him, Imelda began to really reflect on the stinging words she had said.

She _swore_ to herself that when he came home, she'd tell him how much she loved him and that she never meant to make him choose…

But he never _did_ return.

Weeks stretched on into months, and one day the letters just stopped coming. She could never figure out who was more heartbroken - her or Coco. Over time, that pain shifted inside of her, and Imelda realized that through all of her anger and worry and _heartache.._. she had been wrong about the man she loved, all along.

And she had been right about him leaving that night.

He was nothing more than a walkaway musician.

But Imelda carried on - she _had_ to. She knew she had to be strong and provide for her daughter. So, she mended her heart the best she could - albeit clumsily. And although it was still cracked and splintered and missing the pieces that would always belong to Héctor Rivera, she moved forward.

 _Without him._

Tonight, she stays behind later in the workshop - she has to finish a new pair of shoes for Socorro's 6th birthday tomorrow. For some reason, the air is hot and thick, and the thought of celebrating _another_ birthday for their daughter without him is especially heavy on her heart. There are times when Imelda can go entire _days_ without thinking of him.

But then… there are nights like tonight.

Nights when something as innocent as seeing a blooming dahlia, bursting with vibrant color - _much like one he once placed in her hair_ \- can fill her heart with a homesickness she just cannot seem to conquer.

Homesick for a person, not a place.

The memories remain so vivid in her mind, as though she is reliving it:

' _Cada día te quiero más que ayer y menos que mañana, mi cariño,_ ' he'd said softly to her as he plucked an orange dahlia from a balcony when they were young and in love. He reached forward, pushing her dark hair behind her ear and securing the flower in her locks.

 _I love you more than yesterday, but less than tomorrow, my darling._

He was such a poet and a romantic… had those words really meant _nothing?_ She often tries to push the thought of him saying those _same_ things to other women on his travels.

It's so quiet in the workshop tonight - _too_ quiet. It's nights like this that she longs for the gentle sound of a six-string pouring in from the other room. She remembers a time when music was constantly a part of her life. Héctor would always be there, humming and strumming out a nameless song. He would often sit at her feet while she read in a chair, mindlessly stroking his hair.

" _That_ one's new," she would comment, her eyes still drinking in the pages in front of her and her hand mindlessly tangled in his dark, often messy hair.

" _Ay, si_ ," he would just sigh, "Just a little somethin' I'm cooking up." His head would fall back on her lap and he would look up at her fondly with his big, warm, eyes... and she had no choice but to lean down, pressing her grin to his in a soft kiss - he'd _always_ meet her halfway.

He'd eventually play the song for her, serenading her with his low, mesmerizing voice and even more mesmerizing lyrics. His songs were often about her - he called her ' _mi musa_.'

 _His muse._

She would sing with him and they would dance together - he was always such a _torpe_ \- she had to teach him how to dance and he'd stepped on her feet more times than she could count.

But she didn't mind.

The music is what brought them together… and then it was what tore them apart.

It is in that way that she hadn't exactly _intended_ to outlaw music from her house - it just seems to have happened over time. When the letters stopped and she realized Héctor would never be coming home, she would often hear Coco humming from the other room. The songs were both new _and_ familiar, songs that Héctor had written for them. But a single note would trigger a memory, and Imelda would feel her chest tighten and her vision blur.

It hurt too much.

" _Hush now_ , Socorro," she would call out sternly, just trying to get the pain to subside. "That's enough now. No more music."

And as time stretched on through the years, Coco's humming eventually stopped altogether. Imelda would overhear Coco morosely tell her friends, "music is not allowed in our home."

And while she wanted to correct her, Imelda's heart was just too tired to be reminded of Héctor every time she heard the gentle, whimsical plucking of a guitar or a distant trill of a grito.

But Imelda can never seem to get the songs out of her _dreams_. Since he left, Imelda must have dreamt of his songs a _hundred_ times, the music so clear and familiar that she wakes up humming.

But for reasons she cannot explain, she never seems to dream of _him_.

She cannot decide if that is a good thing or a bad thing. While she misses him more than she would _ever_ allow herself to express aloud, she fears dreaming of him only to awaken to the same harsh reality might break her heart all over again.

She sighs and gets up from her workbench, grunting as she twists her spine, stretching out her stiff back. Her shoulders slump and her eyes feel heavy with exhaustion as she admires the two small dress shoes on the table. Everything she does, she does for Socorro. Her little, broken familia is the only thing that matters, now. It is more than enough for her.

She still wishes with _all_ of her heart it had been enough for Héctor.

Before she has the willpower to stop herself, Imelda walks over to one of her work shelves. She moves a few boxes around until she finds it, hidden in the back: one of Héctor's old notebooks. She doesn't take it out often, but for some reason, she longs to feel close to him tonight. His letters home and songs lyrics are pressed in the pages. She thumbs through the lyrics and the doodles and the memories until she finds the photograph of the three of them - she hasn't looked at it in so long, and yet it still manages to make her suck in a short, shallow breath.

She runs her fingertips along the photo as her heart creeps up into her throat. The feeling is nearly suffocating. Her eyes blur with tears as her fingers rest upon his face, and for a moment she tries to remember what it felt like to _touch_ him.

" _Ay_ , _mi alma,_ " her voice cracks. "What _happened_ to you?"

Imelda would sometimes imagine seeing him again, always fantasizing about giving him a piece of her mind for breaking her heart and leaving it in pieces. But always _after_ the harsh words and the tears, she could only ever imagine taking him into her arms and squeezing onto him tighter than she ever had before.

Because there was a time when she thought that her longing for him would subside... but it never seems to get any easier. It has simply become a part of her, following her around and looming over her like a dark cloud - and with that longing, always comes the bittersweet memories of Héctor and how they fell in love.

* * *

 _ **Imelda y Héctor - Dia De Los Muertos, 1917**_

Imelda first met Héctor in the plaza - she was selling flowers.

It had been a very busy day as everyone in the town of Santa Cecilia had been preparing for Dia De Los Muertos. Her family had grown a substantial amount of _Cempazuchitl flores_ that year, and Imelda was trying to sell off the last of them in the marketplace.

As she swept through the plaza, she could hear the distant sounds of someone playing guitar above the hustle and bustle, although she couldn't place just where it was coming from.

When the crowd finally parted, Imelda could see the source of the sound: there was a strapping man playing guitar in front of the fountain. He was tall and broad. He sang with such a charisma it was hard not to notice him. Imelda recalled hearing about this man before - _something_ _De La Cruz?_ He was a young, aspiring musician from Santa Cecilia. She knew he often played in the plaza, but she'd never met him before.

There was a small crowd around him as she approached. That's when she heard the murmurings of his name: _Ernesto_. Many of the señoritas were utterly enthralled by him, giggling and clucking like hens as he led them on with a playful wink and a dashing smile.

But Imelda was not so easily taken by him, and her gaze soon trailed down to the young man beside Ernesto with tousled, unruly hair. He was slouched down on the edge of the fountain, laboring over a tattered notebook. He looked so focused on whatever he was writing that he didn't seem to notice the world spinning on around him - it was as though nothing else mattered more than the words he was scribbling down in front of him.

That was the first time Imelda laid eyes on Héctor Rivera.

Ernesto seemed to notice Imelda watching Héctor intently, and soon he leaned down to give him a little nudge with his elbow. She could see Héctor's reluctance as he pried his focus from the pages in front of him to see what Ernesto was trying to get his attention for.

Then, Héctor's eyes flashed to hers, and it was like Imelda was staring into her own soul.

Her heart fluttered in her chest at that first glance, her stomach clenched. He smiled at her, his grin sort of goofy and lopsided but surprisingly endearing. She could feel a warmth spread to her cheeks and the corners of her mouth pull up into a coy, involuntary smile as her gaze shyly fell from his.

Ernesto soon finished his song with a larger than life vibrato, and then he took a bow as the crowd cheered for him. While bent down, he leaned over to Héctor, whispering something to him.

Héctor appeared to hesitate at first, looking slightly apprehensive. He glanced down at his guitar that was leaning against the wall of the fountain. Then, he picked it up, pulling the leather strap over his head and ducking under it. He tuned the instrument by ear and then began to pluck away at the notes while everyone in the crowd watched on.

Imelda was captivated by him from the very first strum. Everything peculiar about him seemed to melt away - his talent seemed so natural, it was almost impossible to look at anything else. She felt her smile widen as he suddenly jumped up onto the rim of the fountain and began to sing some silly love song with his soft, _kind_ eyes fixated on her.

She fell in love in that instant.

Imelda slowly walked toward him through the crowd, never taking her own eyes off of him. Héctor followed, stepping carefully and balancing along the narrow rim of the fountain as he sang playfully at her.

He wasn't playing for the world.

He was playing for _only_ her.

Once he reached the edge, he hopped down in front of her, never missing a beat. Imelda blushed, continuing through the square. Héctor followed her, the crowd parting for them and watching on with amusement. Everywhere she stepped, he was right behind her, serenading her with his beautiful music. She spun around, the red skirt of her dress fanning out like a flower as she began walking backward _just_ so she could continue to watch him as he sang to her.

" _¡Estas loco!_ " she called out over the music to him during a break between a chorus and a verse.

Héctor continued strumming, his head falling back with laughter before he shouted back, " _¡Si!_ But if _I_ am crazy, it's because you are _making_ me crazy, _hermosa!_ "

This continued for a while - and although there was a crowd of people around them, it felt strangely intimate, as though they were completely alone. At that moment, Imelda could see the rest of her life laid out before her - little snippets of things she'd yet to experience… and every moment involved this young man.

She'd never felt that before.

Héctor finished the song with a bang and the crowd began to cheer, pulling Imelda back to reality. Everyone watching began to go back to their business, dissipating around the plaza and leaving Héctor and Imelda alone.

"Hola," he uttered, his chest rising and falling. He looked out of breath from all the dancing and singing.

"Hola," she replied, trying not to let her nerves show through with the giggles that were bubbling up inside of her. At first, Héctor just stared at her, his eyes rounded as he drank in the features of he face. And then he seemed to shake himself out of his momentary daze, clearing this throat.

"I _mean…_ Qué poco azul llevas para el cielo que eres," he said smoothly, his voice low and sweet like agave. However, it was hard to take him seriously with such a hackneyed line: _What little blue you're wearing for the sky that you are._

She reached down, gripping onto the bright red bustle of her long dress, "Ah, _pobrecito_ ," she hummed softly. "Didn't you _know?_ The sky is _red_."

"Perhaps it is _you_ who is _loca_ , señorita," he mused, and again her heart skipped a beat without her permission. Still, she tried the keep an air of indifference toward to strapping young man.

" _Un_ poco," she shrugged, smiling back at him wryly. Her finger reached toward him to lazily strum along each string, one at a time. "You are... _muy_ fantastico," Imelda complimented almost breathlessly. Héctor reddened at her words, his hand finding the back of his neck, bashfully. He opened his mouth to respond to her, but suddenly Ernesto was back at his side.

" _¡Gracias_ , bonita!" Ernesto cut him off with his deep, booming voice. His large arm came down so hard on Héctor's shoulder that he wobbled a bit under the weight of it. Ernesto tilted his sombrero toward Imelda, "I should happen to agree - I taught him _everything_ he knows," he boasted. He smiled at her charmingly, but Imelda was not moved by him.

" _¡Basta!_ " Héctor hissed under his breath at his friend for the interruption and then chuckled embarrassedly as he wriggled out from under Ernesto's arm. "H-he's _joking_ ," Héctor tried to explain.

Imelda was still unimpressed by Ernesto. Her arms crossed over her chest and her eyebrow quirked, her stare remaining severe.

Ernesto took the hint, muttering to Héctor, " _phew_ , tough crowd. She's _alllll_ yours, _Héctorito._ " He began strumming on his guitar, and the señoritas again came flocking toward him. Once Ernesto was back over by the fountain to start up a new song, Héctor bowed his head nervously, "lo siento… He is a big personality, no?"

"Si," she replied, her eyes narrowing coyly, "perhaps _too_ big."

"Eh, you get used to it," he shrugged back at her with a sweet, sideways grin.

Imelda wanted to stay there forever, but Dia De Los Muertos festivities would begin soon, and she knew her familia would want her home to celebrate the holiday. "I… I should really be going, now…" Héctor's face was so expressive, it was hard not to notice the disappointment in his eyes. But that quickly, they brightened and his smile returned.

"May I walk you home?" Héctor asked. Without awaiting an answer, he reached for her basket of flowers. They weren't heavy, but she let him be a gentleman anyway. Her eyes cast down to his notebook, nestled under his other arm as the two of them began walking down the alley, side by side.

"So… _tell me_. Do you have better lines in that book? Or are all of them just as tiring as the one you just used one me a bit ago?" Imelda asked, shyly toying with the end of her long, dark braid.

"Line? What line?" he asked in a way that told her knew exactly what she meant. In one quick movement his hand snaked out to a passing pole and he swung himself around so he was in front of her, instead, "Ohhh, you mean about _you_ being the _sky?_ I thought that was muy romantico, _no?"_ Imelda couldn't help but laugh when he raised his eyebrows at her, suggestively.

"It was… _something_."

"Well, I can't take credit - it wasn't mine. I've heard Ernesto say it to the señoritas. It always seems to work for him…."

Imelda waved him off, "Then that would explain why I did not care for it," she fired back and continued walking, leaving Héctor momentarily stunned at her brashness.

"Wow, you really are a tough crowd, _eh bonita?_ "

"So I've been told…" It wouldn't be the first time Imelda had heard such a thing. Even at her young age, she'd had plenty of young suitors, but she hadn't ever made it too easy on them. No one had ever even remotely turned her head.

That is, until now.

"Where are you from?" Héctor asked, keeping the conversation alive.

"Right here," she replied, her arm extending out to gesture toward the colorful buildings around them, "Santa Cecilia."

"Me too!" Héctor exclaimed, almost too excitedly. He pulled back, clearing his throat and trying again, "I mean… _me too_. But then why haven't I seen you before?"

"Mi familia is _very_ protective. Mi hermanos work for mi papá, but I stay at home with mi Tía, most of the time," she explained to him - she tried to hide the melancholy in her voice, but the look in his eyes told her that he heard it.

"All this time in the same little town…" he said, wistfully. "I guess…. We just missed each other."

Imelda and Héctor shared another shy smile between them before slowly ambling on down the alleyway. Imelda wanted that walk to last forever, wishing it would somehow stretch into miles and miles, just so she could steal more time with him.

"That song you sang… where did you learn that?"

"I wrote it," Héctor replied, quite proudly. Suddenly Imelda _knew_ that Héctor was not just some ordinary musician. "I write all my own musica. You should see some of the stuff Ernesto comes up with… ay!"

"That bad, eh?" Imelda giggled back at him.

"Let's just say I think he needs _me_ more than I need _him-_ "

" _¡Ay,_ _Cuidado!_ Watch out!" Imelda shouted, but it was too late. Héctor was too busy watching Imelda instead of where he was walking, and his forehead smacked hard into a low awning with a hard thud, knocking him down flat on his back. Imelda gasped as orange flowers and pages from his notebook rained down upon them, scattering along the road. She instinctively dove down to help him, although she could hardly hold back her laughter as he laid there and groaned.

"Are you alright, _tonto?_ " she asked him through her giggles. Before she could stop herself, Imelda reached down to lovingly cup his cheek with her palm. His eyes slowly fluttered open and focused on her face, that wide, lopsided grin spreading across his lips. His hand inched up to rest gently upon hers.

"... _Perfecto._ "

"Tell me _guapo..._ what color is the _sky?_ " she quizzed him to see if he was really okay, and his smile only broadened at her words.

"I would say blue, but this _loca chica_ recently told me it is _red_."

"I still think it's _you_ that is the loco one," she teased.

"If I am crazy it's because you are _making_ me crazy, hermosa" he repeated from before. Imelda couldn't resist - she leaned down slowly to press her lips tenderly against his. However, just before their lips met, she could hear her name being screamed across the pavilion: " _¡Imelda Solis Bautista Romuáldez!"_

Her head popped up and terror plagued her - she recognized that voice _anywhere_. It was her fierce and protective, Tía Josefina. She was the family matriarch after Imelda's mama passed on.

" _¡Dios Mio!"_ she exclaimed, " _¡Lo siento! I…_ I have to _go!_ "

At that, Imelda sprung to her feet grabbing onto the almost empty basket. That quickly, Héctor was up, calling after her, "Wait! _Señorita!_ " She turned back to him as he asked, "What is your name?"

And even though her Tía Josefina had just said it, she smiled at him and replied, "Imelda. Imelda Solis Bautista Romuáldez."

" _Hermosa…_ " he practically sighed back at her.

" _¿Y tu?_ What is your name?"

Imelda could live to be 100 years old, and she will never forget it when he laid his hand over his heart and replied, "Héctor. Héctor Rivera."

" _IMELDA!_ " Tía Josefina called again, louder and closer this time. Imelda scooped up her dress and began to run home.

"When can I see you again?" Héctor called out after her. She turned once more, and his smile was so bright and brilliant at that moment, it put the sun to shame. She could only imagine hers was just as bright.

"Maybe if you ask the heavens, I'll visit you in your dreams tonight." And with those words, she turned once more to meet her family back at the casa.

* * *

 _ **Imelda - 1924**_

That day at the plaza felt like a _lifetime_ ago now as Imelda sat in her workshop, rifling through the pages of the tattered old notebook. People always said things would get easier with time, that the pain would pass, but... she had yet to see that. Those memories of Héctor stung just as deeply as the day he left. With time she thought they would fade, but they still remained fresh.

Memories of two young lovers, meeting for the very first time and somehow knowing their were fates were tied together far too intricately to unknot.

Oh, what did _she_ know back then? She was just a young _fool,_ entranced by a musician.

No. He was a _siren_.

He had lured her to him, only to leave her.

Imelda wiped the tears from her eyes and slammed Héctor's notebook shut. She wanted to throw it across the room. She wanted to scream, cry, _anything_.

...but more than all that… she just wanted to see his face.

She just wanted him to come _home_.

Imelda brought the book to her chest and hugged onto it, sinking back into her chair.

"Oh, Héctor," she breathed, staring out the window out into the vast blanket of stars above her. "What I wouldn't give to see you one more time… even if only in my dreams."

* * *

 _ **To be Continued...**_


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _Had a busy couple of weeks. Sorry for the delay. Chapter 4 is almost complete and should be out in a day or two._

* * *

 _ **Héctor Rivera - Department of Family Reunions**_

Back at the Department of Family Reunions, nestled away from the bustling lobby, Héctor is still trying to wrap his skull around the fact that Imelda wants to see him.

 _Imelda._

 _Wants to see-_

 _Him._

"I still… do not totally understand," Héctor hesitates. In the three years that he'd been here, he'd never even _heard_ such a thing - visiting someone's _dreams?_

 _That_ was new.

"It's simple, really," the clerk declares, taking off his glasses. He puffs a hot breath on the glass, fogging them up before wiping them down with a handkerchief. "When someone from the Land of the Living asks to see a loved one, a formal request is written up. Then, it is processed and either _approved_ or _denied_. And in this case... it was approved."

"But _who_ did she ask? _How?_ "

" _Aye, aye, aye…_ hold on…-" The clerk bemoans, swiveling in his chair to open up a cupboard behind him. There is a small monitor with a black and white moving picture on it. Héctor's eyes widen at the sight of the thing - he's never seen _anything_ like it.

The clerk turns a knob on the device with a loud _clunk, clunk, clunk_ and then…

And then suddenly, there she is.

Héctor feels his jaw unhinge and drop open at the sight of her. She's in some sort of workshop, clutching his notebook to her chest. Héctor slowly rises from his chair and nears the monitor before falling to his knees in front of it. His hand reaches up to rest upon the glass as he watches her in _awe_. It feels like a small eternity since he last saw her, but she's even more beautiful than he remembers.

"Oh, Héctor…" she says, and he _listens_. The rest of the world fades away from him as she says, "What I wouldn't give to see you one more time… even if only in my dreams."

It chills him to hear her speak again, and he's certain he's never heard such grief in her voice before.

She cries, and once again that phantom aching in his chest returns. He can't comfort her. He's not there to comfort her.

"So you see," the clerk continues, "when we hear this, we see if there's a special circumstance to grant the request. Your wife is a good woman. She does much for her daughter and for others around her. We decided to grant her request."

Héctor is startled by the loud _clunk_ sound of the clerk snapping off the monitor, and the screen goes to black. He blinks back tears, looking up at the clerk, "So… it's _true?_ I… I get to see my Imelda?" Héctor cannot recall the last time he spoke with such hope.

He tries to steady his breath, but his rattling bones nearly give him away, regardless.

Given the last thing Imelda had said to him, as well as the fact that she had refused to put up his photo these last three years, Héctor had just as much assumed she had washed her hands of him and never looked back. He had _tried_ not to think about things…

 _Terrible things._

Things like Imelda remarrying and forgetting all about him - or worse, _hating_ him.

Things like his daughter growing up believing he didn't love her. That he didn't _want_ her.

But without any access to the Land of the Living, he truly had no idea what had happened to his family since his departure. All he could hope was that Ernesto was able to get word to them that he had died trying to come home to them. That's all he could hope for.

But now… now he has a _new_ hope. Now he has a chance to tell her _himself_.

However, the suddenly hesitant look on the clerk's face brings that hope down just a notch.

"Well, _sort_ of. You'll be able to visit her subconscious. The problem is that she _might_ remember… but she might _not._ Everyone is different." That is still _more_ than enough for Héctor - he never imagined he'd be gifted such an opportunity in the first place.

It feels like a second chance.

Before Héctor can say more, the clerk heeds a warning, "But you should know this: it takes a lot of energy to visit this way. It is not uncommon for the dead to feel weak or tired upon returning. Some souls don't even have the strength to make it back _at all-_ "

Héctor has stopped listening, his mind too busy racing, " _yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay, okay, okay,_ " he rattles, waving at him off dismissively. He stands and excitedly asks, "When? When can I go? Can I go _now?_ "

"Si! You can go tonight, of course," the clerk exclaims, standing as well to lead the way, but then a frown casts over his face. He pauses before, "That is… if you are sure you're up for it." He picks up Héctor's file and begins to leaf through it, "it says here in your file that your wife has never put your _foto_ on her _ofrenda-_ "

"Si, but _this_ can _change_ that!" Héctor nearly shouts, suddenly feeling more alive than he has since… well, since he _died_. He wants to give the man a shake or a hug or- _something_! After _years_ of nothing but heartache and deep, dark despair, there is a light at the end of the tunnel.

 _Hope._

This is a once in a lifetime ( _er…_ _ **after**_ _-lifetime?_ ) opportunity, maybe the only one he will have to set things right. He knows what is at stake, and he _can't_ blow this. He wonders to himself what it will be like to _really_ see her again, and he's suddenly overcome with a familiar sensation of butterflies in his stomach, not unlike the ones he got the day he first met his beautiful wife.

He knows now, just like then, that he needs to _seize his moment._

"So what is the next step?" Héctor asks, eager to get on with it already. His familia is waiting for him! He's waited for this moment for what has felt like an eternity without them.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. _Espera_ , amigo," the clerk says, holding his hands up to halt Héctor from pushing past him. He slides a form to him, "First, you need to sign here-"

Héctor doesn't even wait for the clerk to explain what exactly he is signing before he snags a pen from the desk, scribbling his name across the vacant line. "It's basically just a form stating that you have been warned of the risk-"

"Si, I get it, I get it-" Héctor prattles off quickly. He leans forward on the desk, his dark eyes pleading, "Por favor, mi amigo. Let me go to her."

"Alright, then. Follow me."

* * *

 _ **Héctor Rivera - Dia de Los Muertos - 1917**_

 _"Maybe if you ask the heavens, I'll visit you in your dreams tonight."_

Héctor can still remember the intense, lingering feeling that refused to leave him after he first met Imelda: how he stood there frozen, unable to watch anything other than the flashing red of her skirt disappearing down the alleyway as she ran home.

And after weeks of being both uninspired and unhappy with his songs, it took merely a couple of stolen moments with Imelda before lyrics and notes began formulating in his virtuoso brain:

" _What color is the sky? ¡Ay mi amor, Ay mi amor!_

 _You tell me that it's red ¡Ay mi amor, Ay mi amor…!-"_

He barely _knew_ her, and yet he was already lovesick - this had never happened to him before.

Héctor sighed wistfully. He quietly began to hum to himself as he bent down to pick up the loose pages still scattered on the ground around him, carefully slipping them back into his notebook - albeit, messily. He was about to get up to leave, but not before he reached down to pick up a single, orange marigold and press it between the pages of his book - _a reminder._

Something told him he was going to want to remember this day.

" _Héctor!"_ Ernesto's familiar voice boomed from somewhere behind him, " _There_ you are!" Héctor's muscles tensed, bracing him for the inevitable slap on the back that _always_ came afterward. Sure enough, it did. "What happened to your _chiquita?_ You scare her away?"

Héctor shrugged, adjusting his guitar strap on his shoulder, "she had to get home for Dia de Muertos with her familia-"

"And you just let her _go?_ "

Héctor could only leer back at his friend, curiously, " _Uh_ … _si?_ She had to _go…?_ "

" _Oh, Héctor_. So young… so much to learn," Ernesto cooed, pinching his best friend's cheek and ruffling his hair, much to Héctor's annoyance. He swatted Ernesto's hands away, smoothing down his hair quickly.

"Well, what do you _expect_ me to do, Ernesto? Hold her _captive?_ "

"You don't have to hold her captive if you _captivate_ her in the first place, _no?_ " The larger man guffawed, hooking his arm over Héctor's shoulders roughly, and once again Héctor was wobbling on his feet. He shoved his friend away and squirmed out from under his heavy arm as he snapped, "would you take it easy? I'm not your ragdoll!" Ernesto stepped back as Héctor smoothed down his jacket, adjusting the collar, hotly.

Ernesto's demeanor shifted from his typically pompous self to a more subdued version - it didn't happen often, but once in a while he would drop his facade and show genuine care for his dearest friend, "My, _my_. You are quite testy, my friend. Is something wrong?"

Héctor sighed when he realized that he is being a _little_ short, "No, I'm okay."

" _Héctor…_ " Ernesto tried again, low and warningly, and this time his hand came up to rest on his shoulder lightly, "come now. You can tell me anything."

"Okay…" The two began walking back down the alleyway and toward the cantina where they'd be performing that night. "Ernesto… do you think someone like _her_ would want someone _like…_ " his words trailed off as he lost his confidence.

"Someone _like…_ " Ernesto coaxed him. But Héctor didn't have to say anything more - Ernesto knew what his friend was trying to ask him. His lack of confidence wasn't surprising, however. Héctor had always lived in Ernesto's shadow and never seemed to mind it.

He was an orphan, literally coming from nothing and Ernesto's family was well-known and well-off. Héctor was grateful for the de la Cruz familia taking him in at such a young age and practically raising him as their own - Ernesto wasn't just his friend.

He was his _brother_.

Everything Héctor _did_ have - the food in his stomach, the roof over his head, the bed he slept in - he owed it all to Ernesto.

And he was always grateful - he never seemed to mind it.

But it felt… different now. Because suddenly, he realized he might have met someone he wanted to give his _all_ to… but other than the guitar on his back and the heart in his chest, what more did he have to offer _her?_

Ernesto sighed, turning to Héctor and placing his hands on his shoulders, giving him a slight shake, "Héctor, I mean it when I say… you are the best person I know. You may not have much, but you make up for it with talent and _heart_. She would be lucky to have you."

"Ernesto, mi amigo…" Héctor breathed. He shook his head, trying to hold back his grin as he teased in feigned awe, "you're… you're being so _nice._ It's so _unlike_ you..."

Ernesto's dark eyes narrow at his friend, "It _pains_ me that you sound so surprised, but I will ignore it because you are feeling down," he replied, flatly.

"I'm just teasing," Héctor laughs, waving him off. But he bows his head humbly, looking up at Ernesto through his shaggy hair when he sincerely adds, "thanks, my friend. I needed to hear that."

Ernesto turns them out, gesturing proudly out toward the brightly decorated plaza. The square is alive with music and excitement as the pink, sunsetting-sky folds into purple, then dark blue in the distance.

"You can _do_ this, chamaco. You just need to go for it, stop overthinking it. When you see your moment, you mustn't let it pass you by. You must _seize_ it!" Ernesto said proudly with a passion Héctor wasn't even aware existed in his friend.

"That was… surprisingly encouraging," Héctor admitted. "Gracias!" He hoisted his guitar onto his back and took off ahead of Ernesto, leaving him puzzled.

"Wait, where are you going? We're supposed to play in an hour!" Ernesto called out after him. Héctor turned back toward him, but didn't slow his strides.

"I've got some writing to do… think you can handle it solo tonight?"

"Si…" Ernesto groaned, rolling his eyes, "but you _owe_ me!"

Héctor clutched his heart dramatically, insisting, "Oh, Ernesto. You know I would move heaven and earth for you, mi amigo!" And then he hurried on his way, ignoring the playful, teasing shouts of his friend behind him.

Ernesto's words of wisdom were still running through Héctor's head as he approached Imelda's house later that night. It took a lot of asking around, but he finally approached the gated casa de Bautista-Romuáldez, _long_ after the sun had set and the fireworks had ended.

He opened the gate, cringing at the long, drawn-out _cccrrreeeeeeeekkk_ of the old hinges, pausing when he heard dogs barking in the distance. He froze, waiting to see if any guard dogs came sprinting around the side of the house, but it seemed he was in the clear.

Héctor crept through the yard, trying to see where he was going by the light of the moon alone. He narrowly avoided tripping over some unknown object and immediately began to rethink this pan - perhaps this wasn't the best idea.

Determined, Héctor tried to peer through a few windows, but it's dark in the house and it seemed everyone had already called it a night.

He was about to give up when he heard the faint sound of singing coming from the west end of the house. He followed it as it grew louder and louder, and he could not believe it when he found an open balcony, where the singing was escaping from. He could see her in her room - she was braiding her hair and singing, gently illuminated by the light of an oil lamp. He wanted to call out to her, get her attention.

Instead… he took his guitar from his back and moved it to his chest. He listened - her voice was beautiful, more beautiful than he could have imagined. He couldn't believe that above being the most beautiful girl he'd ever laid eyes on, she had the voice of an angel, as well.

He gently began to pluck at the notes, softly accompanying her song - _la Llorona?_

 _Yes. That's what it was._

 _La Llorona._

He _knew_ that one.

He picked up the volume just slightly and she kept singing at first, but then paused when she heard the sound of his guitar coming into her room from outside. He felt a smile bending his lips as she curiously padded barefoot out onto the balcony, searching for the source of the mysterious accompaniment.

"H-Héctor?" she whispered after a long moment, squinting out into the night, "Héctor, is that you?"

It filled him with a certain sense of pride that he was the first person she guessed - as though she was hoping it was him.

As though she'd been waiting for _him_ the way he'd been waiting for _her_.

"If I said _si,_ would you be disappointed?" he asked her from the ground, stepping into the light cast down from her bedroom. Her eyes brightened the moment she saw him.

"What are you doing here, _loco?_ " she laughed, and Héctor just kept strumming. He heaved a cavalier shrug.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm _seizing my moment_ , of course," he all but winked, unable to contain his brilliant grin now.

" _Ah…_ " Imelda smiled down at him, resting her cheek in her palm as she leaned over the balcony. She looked like a _diosa_ with her sheer, white nightdress fluttering in the wind and her ethereal beauty nearly stole Héctor's breath away. "And just how do you suppose you're doing that, señor?" she wondered, teasingly. The notes Héctor strummed on his guitar shifted from the song he was playing earlier at the plaza to something new.

"Well, I'm _here..._ aren't I?" He mused, his voice low and smooth.

"Si. So it would appear… but perhaps I am dreaming."

"Oh, no, no. This is _better_ than a dream. This is real life, mi amor, " he said over the gentle plucking that filled the empty space between them, "And I wrote you a song… it's for you. Would you like to hear it?"

Imelda's smile widened and she nodded him on.

Héctor took in a deep but shaky breath and began to sing, but unlike the upbeat, silly song at the plaza, this one was softer. _Tender_. He wrote in the couple of hours between seeing her last and now, and it wasn't much, but it was a start:

" _Ella robó mi corazón mientras vendía flores en el mercado  
No dormiré esta noche a menos que vea su rostro  
Porque quiero soñar con sus hermosos ojos esta noche  
Y despertar con ella para comenzar el resto de nuestras vidas..._

 _She stole my heart selling flowers in the marketplace  
I will not sleep tonight unless I see her face  
Because I want to dream of your beautiful eyes tonight  
And wake up with her to start the rest of our lives."_

His fingers expertly glided across a couple more chords, then tapered off to a couple of lone stings. Then, it came to a stop, the final note reverberating between them.

Imelda said nothing at first, just stared down at him with an almost unreadable expression.

He winced, nervously muttering out vague excuses like, "I-it's _rough_. I only have that one verse, b-but I'm still working on it-"

"It was perfect, Héctor," she finally said, and he could almost make out the faint glisten of tears in her eyes. "You… you wrote that for _me?_ "

Héctor rolled a shoulder, his hand sheepishly finding the back of his neck and his eyes falling away as he said, "si, well… you _inspired_ me…"

"I inspired you to write something so… beautiful?" she asked as though she didn't believe him.

Héctor couldn't help himself before he teased, "Well, I started a song about how _loco_ you are, but got stuck on the first verse, so-"

"Come here," Imelda demanded, moving closer to the lattice crawling up the side of her house beside her balcony. She didn't have to say it twice - Héctor swung his guitar around onto his back and grabbed ahold of the lattice, climbing up like a ladder while Imelda impatiently waited for him. " _Darse prisa!"_

Héctor glanced at her through his hair, grunting as he continued to climb, "alright, alright. I'm coming. You know, this is harder than it looks…"

"You certainly don't make it look easy," she chuckled at him, hiding her amused grin behind her hand.

He made it to the iron railing of her balcony, hoisting his arms over it to hold him up. He blew the loose, unruly locks of hair from his eyes, breathing heavily.

"Hola," he smiled up at her.

"Hola," she giggled in return.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" Héctor mused, cheekily. He reveled in the way her cheeks rouged at his words - as though she could possibly, maybe, _actually_ like him, too.

"I could…" Her eyes fell down to his muddy boots, "but you'd have to lose the shoes…" Héctor laughed and reached for his boot like he was going to take it off - although, if he actually did, he'd go toppling to the courtyard.

" _Ay_ , and _where_ should I put them, señorita?"

"Put them on your head," she tittered, inching delicately into his lips.

"I think there's a song in that…" Héctor mumbled back, meeting her lips halfway.

" _You!_ " tía Josefina's shrill voice bellowed through the courtyard, and Héctor jerked away from Imelda, nearly falling down from the terrace. He landed down on the ground hard, almost losing his footing but somehow remaining upright. "And just _what_ do you think you're _doing?!_ "

Héctor attempted to blurt out an apology, but tía Josefina was already shouting again as she approached him, angrily., "You're that street musician! What are you doing here?" she demanded. Héctor's eyes rounded with fear - perhaps he hadn't thought this all the way through.

"I… I'm here to see Imelda," Héctor stammered, unsure how he even managed to find his voice. Tía Josefina's sharp eyes flitted between Héctor and her beautiful niece, standing above them on her balcony in only her nightdress with a shell-shocked look on her face.

"Imelda Solis Bautista Romuáldez!" tía Josefina scolded, pointing a bony finger in her direction, "You get inside your room-"

"Pero, Tía Josefina- _!_ " Imelda started to protest, but her tía was having _none_ of it.

" _¡Andele!"_

Imelda seemed to know better than to press her luck with her short-tempered aunt, "Si, señora…" she muttered, sadly. She gave Héctor a small wave goodbye before sulking back into her bedroom.

"Señora, _por favor-_ " Héctor tried, but tía Josefina did not want to hear it.

"Get! Get out of here!"

"But if you'd just _listen-_ "

"NO," tía Josefina erupted furiously, "No sobrina of _mine_ is going to be seen running around Santa Cecilia with some… some... _street boy!_ "

" _Street boy?_ " he echoed back, unable to subdue the hurt in his voice at her choice of words. She glowered at him.

"I know you, _Héctor Rivera_." She spat out his name as though it were a curse word. "You are that boy, taken in by la familia de de la Cruz. And now you play for pesos in the plaza! What could you _possibly_ have to offer my Imelda?

Héctor swallowed down the lump in his throat, backing away from the irate woman slowly, "you're right. I-I'm sorry. I'll go."

"Don't let me catch you here again, _calaca!_ "

And with that final insult, tía Josefina stormed off the way she came - a whirlwind of fierce energy. Héctor's shoulders tensed at the loud slamming of the front door, and then he just stood there in the deafening silence afterward. He somberly looked down at his guitar to assess the damage but luckily, it appeared both he and the guitar remained unscathed.

At least, physically.

Héctor heaved a dejected sigh, once again moving his guitar to his back. He leaned down to fix his shoe and dust off his pants.

" _Seize your moment,_ " he mocked, imitating and exaggerating Ernesto's deep voice. He was quite certain that he'd never felt as foolish as he felt right in that moment. " _Idiota…_ " he hissed under his breath, self-loathingly shaking his head.

Héctor cast one last longing glance up to Imelda's darkened room, watching her curtains blowing in the gentle moonlight.

She was so close, but never felt more far away.

"Buenos Noches, mi Hermosa. _Dulces sueños…_ " he whispered, turning to slip back out of the tall gate he'd come in through.

He'd made it just outside of the gate and started down the road when he heard someone shuffling up behind him.

"Héctor!" she called out behind him, "¡Espérame!"

Before Héctor could even completely turn around, Imelda leaped into his arms, hugging onto him tightly and pressing her lips forcibly against his. Héctor let out a surprised but delighted murmur, too stunned to even kiss her back at first. But then she let out a soft, happy moan and he melted into her, his own arms slinking around her waist as he pulled her even closer.

It was more than he could have ever imagined.

It was heaven.

Their lips parted slowly, but their foreheads remained connected as they tried to catch their breath. They'd only just parted, but he already craved her.

"Meet me tomorrow," she requested, her voice curling up into a beg.

"Si. Any _time_. Any _where-_ " He nodded far too enthusiastically, but he didn't care, especially when her grip on him tightened and she once again brought his mouth back to hers as though she were laying claim to him.

Not that he minded.

He was hers.

So completely and entirely hers.

Their kiss broke once more, but her hands remained planted on the sides of his face as her eyes fluttered open. She gazed up at him through her eyelashes with admiration in her dark eyes, "Tomorrow night… after mi familia has gone to bed. I will sneak out and meet you at the plaza by the fountain… where we first met."

"Nothing will keep me from being there," he promised.

She reluctantly let go of him, but then quickly pressed one more kiss on his lips.

"Don't be late!" she insisted before turning and running back to her house, leaving him dumbfounded over what exactly had just happened.

As he watched her disappear behind the gate, Héctor began to hum.

" _What color is the sky? ¡Ay mi amor, Ay mi amor!_

 _You tell me that it's red ¡Ay mi amor, Ay mi amor!_

 _Where should I put my shoes? ¡Ay mi amor, Ay mi amor!_

 _You say, 'put them on your head!' ¡Ay mi amor, Ay mi amor!...-_

And he went home to write it down with the feeling of Imelda's sweet lips pressed against his still fresh in his mind.

* * *

 _ **Héctor Rivera - Department of Family Reunions**_

Héctor can't stop his mind from racing as he follows the clerk through the maze of desks and to a back room marked " _PRIVADO: DFR EMPLOYEES ONLY_." He wrings his hands together apprehensively, unsure just what awaits him behind that door.

They enter another department of the DFR and there is an attendant behind a desk. She glances up at the two, offering a polite smile that puts Héctor at ease.

"Hola, may I see your order form?" she asks, but the clerk has it out in front of her before she can even finish her question.

"There should be an appointment for Héctor Rivera," the clerk tells her. She pulls out a clipboard, scanning the list of names, " _ah_ , si! Welcome, Señor Rivera," she greets, pleasantly.

The clerk claps him on the back, "Héctor, this is Inés, she is going to be helping you from here. Don't worry, you're in good hands."

And without another word, he steps out and Inés rounds the corner of her desk, handing Héctor another paper to sign.

"I trust he told you the risks?" she asks him, and Héctor can only nod, wordlessly. His nerves are beginning to creep up on him again when the gravity of the situation and what he is about to do begin weighing down on him.

He scribbles his initials on the line, and she smiles brightly.

"Good, follow me!" Inés begins back through another set of doors and into a dimly lit room. There is a doorway on the other side of the room, and it seems to be glowing with some kind of energy.

"That's the dream portal. You're going to step through there and you'll be able to slip into Imelda's subconscious."

Héctor flinches at the mention of his wife's name, once again reminding him exactly what is happening.

"And… and I'll get to see her? I can talk to her?"

"Si."

"For how long?"

"As long as she stays asleep." Inés steps forward, adjusting Héctor's jacket and fixing his bandana around his neck, trying to help him look a little less disheveled. Héctor can only stare past her at the glowing doorway. She turns him toward it before hurrying over to some kind of device, turning a dial. It sounds like a radio. Once she's satisfied, she turns toward him again.

"Are you ready?" she asks, but Héctor says nothing. "Don't be scared, Héctor." Inés must see the fear weighing heavily on Héctor's face. Her hand comes up to rest on the center of his shoulder blade, gently coaxing him toward the terminal. Héctor stares warily at the doorway - a lustrous sheen fills the void of the exit like a window's reflection. The image of himself staring back feels like a ghost. Instead of the skeletal version of himself he's come to know, there he is.

Héctor Rivera.

 _In the flesh._

His hand moves up on its own accord to touch his cheekbone, and the mirror-image of himself does the same. But his hand comes up to rest upon soft, warm flesh, instead. He can almost feel it under his fingertips. The sensation causes a soft gasp to fall from his lips and his bleary eyes to blur with tears.

"It can be a little overwhelming to see yourself for the first time," Inés says, softly. She pauses in the stilled silence before asking him, "how long has it been?"

Héctor gulps back the knot in his throat even though his mouth is dry. He cannot seem to look at anything other than his own reflection as he replies in a daze, "th-three years."

A simple chime sounds from the attendant's radio and a red light creeps on overhead, alerting them. She smiles at him, softly saying, "She's ready for you."

Héctor tries to recall when, if ever, four words have ever weighed so heavily on him before… well, besides uttering ' _will you marry me?_ ' or Imelda telling him, ' _we're having a baby_.'

… or perhaps, ' _Are you leaving, papá?_ '

Héctor should be running through that door, but his feet feel like they are encased in concrete.

"Señor Rivera?"

"Si," he chokes out. He shakes himself out of his stupor and gives Inés a weak smile, "Lo siento. I'm just… I'm a little nervous…"

That's a lie. He's utterly terrified.

Inés tilts her head to the side, eyeing him carefully, "May I offer you some sound advice?" and relief washes over him.

"Por favor."

"...You can make her dream whatever you want to. So, why don't you think about a memory that is special to you? Or perhaps a memory you never got to have? You are a writer, verdad?" Héctor somehow manages to nod, watching the mirror image of his former self do the same. "Then... rewrite your story. Give yourself a better ending."

Héctor's teeth clench down as he mulls it over.

Suddenly it feels as though all the memories of Imelda, long buried inside of him, become dislodged and come flooding back to him, seemingly all at once. Her eyes, her skin, her smell… He wants to be buried beneath her glossy, black hair, immersed in her. His fingers suddenly ache to feel her skin. He closes his eyes and sees flashes of the first time he held her hand, the first time he heard her sing, their first kiss that night he sang to her…

... _their wedding night._

So often, he'd pushed these memories away - they had been _far_ too painful to process, even before he died. Just out on the road and away from his girls was agonizing - but now? He was separated from them by a whole world apart.

After his third Dia de Muertos here without his photo on their ofrenda… he figured maybe it was time to let them go. Because he was certain that allowing himself to remember may kill him all over again.

Yes… There are so many memories of his former life with Imelda in the back of his mind - but each memory is precious and perfect. He wouldn't want to change anything…

Except maybe one.

He should never have left… but it shouldn't have taken him so long to go home. He closes his eyes and pictures what it would have been like if he'd just made it home to them.

He takes in a deep breath and steps through the door.

* * *

 _ **To be continued.**_


End file.
